


Burning Down

by xstatic



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Blackmail, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Modern Setting, Nyctophobia, Office AU, alex is unstable, probably not a good combination but? it works, so is thomas, the bois are trying their best, this might qualify as a slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-04-26 12:19:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14402016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xstatic/pseuds/xstatic
Summary: Alex was fire. He'd known that his whole life, had been told that by everyone who knew him. He was a wildfire, uncontrollable and near impossible to stop once the first spark had been thrown.Thomas perplexed him. The man was fire as well, but entirely different in nature. He was the flame that burned at the end of a candle wick. Collected, controlled, and steady, he could reduce buildings to ashes if given the time- but he far too easily flickered out.





	1. Alight

Sunlight began to filter in through Alex's dusty windows, grey and muted by clouds, but determined. The sun itself wasn't yet visible, and it was still much too early for the red and pink hues of dawn to appear on the horizon. The chilly morning air of spring seemed to drape a curtain of rest over the world, and not even the birds had woken to sing.

Alex sipped his coffee quietly, so as not to disturb the silence. He didn't consider himself a morning person, although he often found himself up at some ungodly hour before dawn. There was something about the way mist clung to the ground and a few stars still held on to their place in the sky that instilled an indescribable emotion in anyone who was awake to see it. It filled Alex's bones with a rare sense of both stillness and energy, some raw form of motivation that he assumed was the only way humans were able to wake up before the invention of coffee.

 _Coffee_. He held a cup of his liquid wake-up-call in his hands at that moment. It was still piping hot, and sweetened just enough for it to be palatable. He hardly ever added creamer to it; as far as Alexander was concerned, it was unnecessary and only cooled the drink down, which was, on all levels, a sin. Alex needed to feel it burn his tongue as he drank it, needed the slight sting to ground himself and pull him out of the haze of sleep.

He glanced over at the clock. _5:15_. That was theoretically hours before work started. For Alex, however, there was about half an hour before he left, in order to get an extremely early start. He sighed inaudibly and looked back to his coffee, downing the rest of it in a long sip. He lowered the ceramic mug, pushing a few piles of paperwork aside to make room, and placed it on the kitchen counter. It had been the last clean cup in his cupboard- the rest of them strewn about his apartment- but he would sooner drink from a bowl than wash dishes that he didn't _absolutely_  have to.

Alexander stretched, his joints cracking like a human glowstick. He slid off of his chair and walked over to the bathroom, flicking on the light and turning to the mirror. His dark circles were visible as ever, and his black hair was beginning to get oily after not having been washed for a week, but he didn't really care. He twisted the faucet on and splashed some cold water in his face, the temperature shock immediately crushing any remnants of sleep that were still in his system. He blindly grabbed for a towel and dried off before straightening up again.

The clothes he had set out the night before were rumpled, but he thought he would still look presentable enough. He pulled a white button-down shirt over his head and shrugged on a grey suit jacket, hastily stepping into a pair of black pants and taking far too long to put on an emerald green tie. He preened in the mirror for a moment, before stepping away and leaving the bathroom a disorganized mess.

 

* * *

 

It was another half-hour before he reached his office building. Traffic had been even worse than usual, and the shift in weather didn't exactly help. It looked like the dawn that Alex had been hoping to see would never come- it was doused with a heavy rain shower before it could even begin. The whole world seemed to be dull and washed-out, as though all of the color had drained from it. Alexander's mood matched his surroundings. The motivation from earlier that morning had all but vanished, and he was left with a weariness that settled on his shoulders and worsened his already terrible posture.

His fingers drummed on the steering wheel of his car impatiently, waiting for the asshole in front of him to _move already so he could fucking park_. Once said asshole cleared out of the way, Hamilton accelerated faster than was probably safe and screeched to a halt in the nearest parking spot. Half of him wanted to rip apart the next human being he saw, and the other half wanted to pass out on the bench near the front doors of the office building.

So, there were two ways the day could go.

Alex glanced around quickly. The interior of his car was beaten up but familiar, comforting but unimpressive. He'd had it for years, and it had probably been owned for years before he got it, too. It promised shelter from the storm, and he loathed to give it up.

Nevertheless, he pushed open the door and stepped out, grabbing his suitcase and straightening his tie. He doubted it would do much, since the wind was already biting at his nose and turning his hair into an unruly mess. He turned, slamming the door shut behind him and stamping off toward the building. Rain whipped down from the storm clouds overhead and stung his exposed skin as he made his way to the entrance. 

The office wasn't technically open. _Didn't_ technically open until 7:30. As far as Alex knew, no one else came to work as early as he did. However, being Washington's secretary gave him access to some things that the other employees did not have, and among those was a card that let him in at any time of day- or night. He fumbled with his pocket for a moment as he stood by the doors, before pulling it out and holding it up to the sensor for a moment.

It beeped, but the light on the sensor turned red.

That wasn't right.

He tried again, to the same result.

_Shit._

Obviously something was wrong. The card had worked every day for months now, and hadn't denied him once. Was it broken?

Alex gave one last attempt, to no avail. He groaned, looking across the expansive parking lot to where his car sat. It was certainly more than a 5 minute walk, especially now that more cars were beginning to show up in front of various other buildings. If he still stood any chance of getting into work early, he'd have to catch the next person on their way in, and he couldn't do that from so far away.

So he turned to the bench that he had jokingly considered crashing on earlier. He walked over to it and hesitantly sat down. It was metal, and chilled him even through his clothes- but it was dry, protected by the small overhang of the building above, and it served its purpose as a place to wait. He couldn't ask much more of it. He pulled his phone from his pocket and absently scrolled through it, counting the minutes that passed much slower than they ought to.

Would it really be so bad to just... rest his eyes?

 

* * *

 

 

Alexander's first thought upon waking up was, _"God, that was the worst sleep I've had in ages."_

His second thought was that his alarm clock was way more annoying than usual.

Suddenly his eyes shot open as he remembered where he was, and he instantly filled with terror.

"Oh my _God!_ I knew you were a mess, Hamilton, but not _this_ much of a mess!" Cackled Jefferson, towering over him.

Alex sat up instantly, rubbing his eyes with one hand. It was at that point that he spotted the phone in Jefferson's grasp, held in a way that suggested that he had been...

Taking pictures.

Ah.

Alex lunged for the phone, only for Jefferson to yank it away just as quickly. "Give me that fucking phone, you lamppost." He snarled. The other man smirked in response.

"Why? Oh, did you want... This?" Jefferson asked, flipping the phone around to show a picture of Alex, fast asleep on the bench. His hair was stuck to his face and his limbs sprawled in different directions. he looked, frankly, horrible.

Alexander leapt to his feet, stalking toward him. "Delete it." He growled, reaching for it again- only for the other man to hold it above his head, far out of Hamilton's reach.

"Hm... that's quite aggressive, coming from someone who clearly couldn't get into the office on their own," Thomas chided. "Would you rather I leave you out here in the rain again? You looked pretty comfortable."

Alex paused, his hands balling up into fists. He opened his mouth to yell at Jefferson again, but closed it before any of the words could make it out. He stared at the taller man for a long moment. Finally, he let out a breath that he didn't know he'd been holding, and let his shoulders drop in defeat.

"Fucking... whatever. Just let me in." He responded, breaking eye contact and glaring at nothing in particular. Thomas grinned back condescendingly.

"That's what I thought," He said, turning to the door and opening it with his access card. He pulled the door open and held it, gesturing for Alex to go first. Which he did, furiously, and refused to look at him.

As Hamilton brushed past him and stormed away to his office as quickly as possible, Jefferson felt his air of confidence go up in smoke. He sighed and released the door behind him, waiting until Alex was out of sight to head to his own office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! This is my first Hamilton fic, but I've had this concept for a while and I wanted to get it out there! I'll try to update this every Sunday, but I might get off schedule every so often, so I apologize in advance.
> 
> If you liked this, [buy me a coffee?](https://ko-fi.com/B0B3CI77)


	2. Kindling

The door to Hamilton's office slammed shut behind him. He locked it for good measure.

He brought a hand to his hair, combing back through it absently as he walked over to his desk. He attempted a breathing exercise that he vaguely remembered from some questionably reliable health website. Surprisingly, it worked- but he was still pissed.

He should have gotten the picture from Jefferson. He knew that the man wouldn't hesitate to send it to the _entire office_ if Alex did something he didn't like. It was as though he had no moral compass whatsoever. 

Either way, Alexander had no desire to speak with Thomas at that moment. Or at any moment, really, but _especially_  that moment. He glanced up from the wood grain of his desk and pushed the power button on his computer, cringing slightly as it hissed and whirred with the effort of turning on. He preferred using his laptop, but figured it was a waste of battery when the job already provided him with a desktop, albeit barely functioning. He could make do. That's what he'd been doing for the past twenty-something years, after all.

The screen finally flickered to life, prompting him to log in. He did so, and began to lose his thoughts in a blur of writing, drafting email after email to Washington's correspondents. His fingers flew across the keyboard like flames, but he barely paid attention. This was the part of Alex's job that he hated most. There was no critical thinking, no real heat to the letters he strung together. The words were hollow and they were Washington's, and Hamilton was merely their vessel.

It was nearly an hour later when Alexander finally slowed down. He had finished his assignment early, as he often did, and he had nothing to do for most of the remaining work day. His phone lit up from on top of a stack of papers. He reached for it, tapping on the notification which opened a text from John Laurens. It was some stupid meme that made him love the man even more.

God, Alex wished that he and John had worked out together. But John, like everyone else he had been with, was water. He was made for healing, for nurturing, and he was supposed to balance out the fire in Alexander. Alex? He was made for destruction. All that his fire did was burn anyone who got too close, and he didn't want that to happen to Laurens too. So he left, to keep him safe. He knew that it had hurt John. He knew that he would have hurt John more eventually if he had stayed.

 A knock at the office door wrenched him from his thoughts. He shot a text back to Laurens and turned in his swiveling chair to face the entrance.

"Who is it?" He asked warily.

"Alex, it's me!" Came a familiar, lilting french voice.

Hamilton nearly jumped out of his chair and closed the distance to the doorway in a couple of bouncy strides, flicking the lock and stepping back to pull the door open. He grinned, excited to see his friend who had presumably returned from his business trip to France.

The door opened and Alex raised his arms for a hug, his brain not processing what was in front of him for a moment.

Instead of the cheerful Frenchman he was expecting, a scowling Jefferson leaned against the door frame. Hamilton blinked in surprise and instantly dropped his arms.

"Where's-"

"Thanks again, Lafayette." Thomas said, the aforementioned man seeming to appear out of nowhere. Jefferson slipped him a $20 bill and Laf nodded in response, starting to walk away.

"Oh, fuck you!" Alexander shouted. Lafayette turned to wink at him and laughed, before taking off down the hall.

Alex was about to follow him, but his way out of the office was quickly blocked by Jefferson's arm, which easily reached across the width of the doorway. The taller man cleared his throat. Hamilton took a step back and crossed his arms over his chest. An uncomfortable silence settled between them.

"...What do you want?" Alex finally asked, meeting Jefferson's eyes with a glare.

"A deal."  


 

* * *

 

 

 "No! Absolutely not!"

Thomas Jefferson reclined in a chair across from Hamilton's desk, looking far too casual. "It would only be once." He replied, stretching.

"And it would be putting the entire company at risk."

"Would you rather put your entire _career_ at risk?"

Alexander fell silent briefly, fuming. He inhaled shakily, attempting to keep the anger out of his voice. "What... What are the exact conditions?"

"You have to weaken your statement for the next meeting." Thomas said. "And," he added, "you have to give at least a vague compliment on my statement." He smirked.

"That's ridiculous. Anyone who knows me would think I was going insane."

"Make it believable then."

"You know what? Get the hell out of my office!" Alex raised his voice, unable to contain it.

Thomas didn't move for a moment, before realizing that Hamilton was serious. He stood slowly and purposefully. "Fine, but if these were to find their way onto Washington's desk, that kind of unprofessional behavior from someone like you?..."

"Did you just say 'these', plural?"

"...Theoretically."

"Right. Fucking great." Alexander dropped his head into his hands, his elbows resting on the top of his desk. "Of fucking course he took more than one," he muttered under his breath, followed by a string of other incoherent curses.

Jefferson stood and started for the door, pausing next to Alex. "Be sure to let me know when you finish revising that statement." He patted him on the shoulder in a fake show of sympathy, before gliding out of the room and letting the door click shut.

 

Alexander Hamilton was alone, and if a few tears came to his eyes, no one else was there to see it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter was shorter and a bit late! There has been far too much chaos recently rip
> 
> \- - -
> 
> If you liked this, [buy me a coffee?](https://ko-fi.com/B0B3CI77)


	3. Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh god. i am literal human garbage. i'm,, so sorry for putting this fic on the back burner for so long, and that i didn't give any notice in advance! please accept this chapter as an apology y'all

Alexander Hamilton was terrified of the dark.

 

He had come to America with nothing but the clothes on his back and ten dollars in his pocket, through the help of a family friend's connection to George Washington. Hell, he practically owed Washington- his first and only employer in America- his life. But even though he'd been an integral part in the process of getting Alex to the states, George couldn't pay for everything.

Hamilton couldn't have paid for a plane ticket in his wildest dreams. All he had was spent on staying alive from day to day. Instead, he did what he had always done, and he turned to his pen once more. The people in his town had practically raised him for the past eight years, what with his absent father and his late mother; it was no surprise that they were willing to contribute the little they had toward giving their brightest child a better future.

With the money, he was able to bribe the captain of a cargo ship into bringing him along the next time they set sail for the U.S. There was no spare room he could stay in, as he technically wasn't supposed to be there. Instead, he slept below the deck among the crates of cargo. It was the only free space that was sheltered from wind and rain. A sack of flour served as his pillow, and he kept warm with a blanket that one of the kinder crew members had offered him. He ate however much was rationed to him, and he knew better than to ask for anything more. All in all, the months that he spent aboard as the ship stopped by various ports wouldn't have been _that bad_ \- if it weren't for the darkness.

He helped out the crew during the day, trying to make himself as useful as possible to stay in the captain's good favor. But each night he would clamber down from the deck to his makeshift bed, and watch as the crew slid the hatch closed above him. No light shone through. It was chilly, the air was too dry, and every sound seemed to be amplified tenfold as it echoed throughout the storage area. The inky blackness surrounding him was almost suffocating. Worse, still, were the nightmares that came to him when the ship hit rough water, or the times when he'd be woken violently from his sleep by a rat nipping at his hand. He'd learned from day one to leave as little skin exposed as possible to the little bastards.

There was no one down there with him, and eventually the darkness came to symbolize the isolation, fear, hunger, and pain that he felt.

 

Even now, years after he'd stepped off of that ship, darkness still haunted him. He couldn't sleep in a room that was completely unlit without his heart rate shooting through the roof. Nightlights were a godsend, though that was something he hid carefully. Few people knew of his fear of the dark (which his doctor referred to as "nyctophobia"), and those that did were people whom Alex felt he could trust with his life.

Though there was considerable reason for Hamilton concealing his phobia, he would want it to be known that it wasn't because he was afraid of being perceived as childish; he _was_ childish in many ways, and he knew that. It was that if he didn't hide this part of himself, he would have to explain it. He would have to expose to others that he was _weak_ , that he was inferior due to circumstances he had no control over- something that he'd spent so long burying beneath a cold, hard, protective exterior.

 

These thoughts fluttered around in his skull like caged birds. They often did when he stayed at work after dark. It should have been easy to work with just the light from his laptop screen and the moonlight that glowed through the windows- for a normal person, that is- but when the Sun dipped below the horizon forty minutes ago, Alex's brain had instantly started moving one hundred miles per hour to alert him of every single threat that could leap out of the shadows. He would look crazy if he flipped the lights in the break room back on while he worked- everyone else had clocked out around an hour ago, and all of the lights had already switched off automatically. The prospect of retreating to his office was tempting, but he felt safer where he was, in the center of the building. It was less cornered in, and it gave him more room to breathe.

 

He contemplated the nightlight that he kept in his bag. It was generally reserved for when he stayed at a hotel on short notice, and was designed to rest on a bedside table. He weighed his options for a good five seconds before deciding 'fuck it' and digging his hand into his bag. For a moment he searched blindly, clearing old receipts and boxes of mints out of the way, until he caught the scuffed edge of the small lamp. He pulled it out and turned it over in his hands. The light itself was a three-dimensional star shape, mounted on a simple plastic base. It was worn with use, but as he flicked the "on" switch, it still gave off a familiar warm glow.

Hamilton could literally _feel_ the tension drop from his shoulders, as he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He set the light down on the coffee table in front of him and grabbed his laptop, certain he'd be more productive now that he'd managed to dispel the worst of the fear that clung to him like a cold sweat. He dragged his eyes back to the screen, and an inaudible sigh escaped his lips.

The very thought of intentionally making his work worse made his skin crawl. It was no wonder that he'd only changed a few sentences thus far. To be honest, he wasn't even clear on what Jefferson had meant- he supposed it was an attempt to bring Hamilton down from his position, which irritated him to no end. Who the fuck did Thomas think he was?

Regardless, he forced himself to continue editing.

And it worked- for a while.

 

Barely 30 minutes passed before it happened. If Alex hadn't been so absorbed in his task, he might have noticed- but, to be fair, the footsteps were almost silent.

He heard Jefferson before he saw him.

"Hamilton? Why-"

Alexander's head snapped up as he registered the other man's presence. Thomas had stopped mid-sentence and was gazing at the nightlight in bafflement. Alex thought he might have broken him.

Before Jefferson had time to react, Hamilton had snapped his computer shut and shoved it into his bag, quickly followed by the light. He stood and moved to leave as quickly as possible, but was stopped in the doorway by a hand on his shoulder. He threw a glare back at the taller man, but was met by a look of... total confusion.

Alex shrugged out of his grip and took off down the hallway, keeping his head down to hide how flushed his face was from both anger and embarrassment. His gait was somewhere between a steady clip and a full-on sprint as he attempted to get out of range of the person who'd been a thorn- no, more like a _knife_ \- in his side for the past week.

He didn't stop until he'd gotten into his car and locked the doors.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a ton of ideas for the future of this storyline, so updates are (hopefully) going to actually happen from now on! once again, i'm really sorry about that sudden unannounced hiatus period. 
> 
> \- - -
> 
> If you liked this, [buy me a coffee?](https://ko-fi.com/B0B3CI77)


	4. Falling Apart

Alex was positive that, of all his fuck-ups, accepting Jefferson's deal was his most catastrophic fuck-up thus far.

That was saying something.

It was the most recent in a series of asinine decisions also known as "Alexander Hamilton's Life", most of which were driven by one of (or an amalgamation of) his five primary emotions: anger, general moodiness, fear, distress, and, occasionally, actual happiness. He suspected that the motivation behind this choice fell mainly into the 'fear' category.

He didn't just want the respect of his boss and coworkers, he relied on it. Drank it in like a dry sponge. Gaining a good reputation had been an uphill battle, and he'd been fighting for it for the past five years. Hamilton poured everything into his work, into appearing professional and put-together despite the absolute chaos of his life outside of his occupation. He couldn't let anything tarnish his meticulously crafted facade, without running the risk of destroying all he'd achieved. Not even the stupid fucking picture of him sleeping on a _bench_.

Alexander was nothing without his work, and the thought of losing it was terrifying.

 

That being said, Alex's _second_ worst fuck-up was showing up to work at all on Monday morning.

His bones were buzzing since the moment he stepped through the door, as though a colony of pissed-off bees had taken up residence within him. At that point, he couldn't tell whether it was due to nerves, or the inhuman amounts of coffee he'd consumed. Either way, he'd pushed forward and assured himself that he could survive his presentation.

As he hovered by the entrance to the conference room, however, he began to have second thoughts. His arm literally trembled when he extended it toward the closed door. As he did so, a drop of sweat dripped from his fingertips onto the door handle and _god_ was that gross, but simultaneously very telling of how much he wanted to enter that room _._ When he accidentally made eye contact through the window with Washington, who was sitting at the head of the table, he acknowledged that he couldn't put it off any longer.

He took one final glance over his shoulder at salvation, before turning the doorknob with a _click,_ and stepping over the border.

 

* * *

 

One hour later, Alex sat slumped over in his desk chair. His head was buried in his hands as he muttered quietly to himself. He knew it was kind of strange, but sometimes he _had_ to think out loud - it was the only way to articulate his thoughts, which came a mile a minute. At the moment, none of them were positive.

He'd fumbled his way through the slideshow, stumbling over words and failing to communicate what he wanted to, only half because of the purposely shitty nature of his presentation, and the other half because of stress. When he sat down at the conference table afterwards, he caught a glimpse of the concerned glances Washington sent his way, but couldn't bring himself to meet his boss' gaze. He much preferred to study the pattern of the floor tiles.

With a sigh, Hamilton drew himself up into a semi-regular sitting posture. He looked back to his computer screen, which now seemed blindingly bright, and clicked the most recent notification he'd received for his email:

 

>  George Washington <gwashington@gmail.com>
> 
>  
> 
> Alexander,
> 
> Please meet me in my office at your earliest convenience.
> 
> Regards,
> 
> G. Washington

 

_Well, shit._

Alex groaned and stood up, rubbing his eyes with one hand as he pushed in his chair with the other. He paused to re-tie his ponytail before crossing to his office door and exiting.

There was a moment, as he shut the door behind him, that he swore he saw a flash of purple in his peripheral vision- but when he whipped around to look, it was gone. He blinked a couple of times and shook his head. Damn, maybe the lack of sleep was finally catching up to him.

Washington's office was only a few doors down from his, but he wished it was further. Maybe then he'd have more time to come up with something intelligent to say. At the moment, he had nothing, and his inner voice wasn't helping matters. _'You'll be fired on the spot,'_  it nagged, _'Washington only keeps you around because he feels_ sorry _for you.'_ The words stung. But rather than giving in and listening to it, Hamilton dug his nails into the palm of his hand until it hurt. The negative thoughts were quickly replaced with _'ow, what the hell, dude?'_

As he zoned back in, the nameplate of Washington's door came into focus, and he realized he'd reached his destination. Before Alex could even move to enter the room, the door swung open. His boss stepped out. His brows were knit together, and lines were visible on his forehead- it was clear he'd been waiting for him.

He motioned for Hamilton to come inside- which he did, hesitantly.

The chair across from Washington's desk was as plush and comfortable as ever, but he felt too nauseous to appreciate it as much as it deserved. He rested his hands on his lap, tapping his foot unconsciously. He could feel Washington studying his face as he made his way over to the desk, observant and emotionally intuitive as ever. Emotionally intuitive Alexander was not. He wouldn't even have a read on what his boss was thinking, if not for the man's incredibly expressive eyebrows.

"Do you know what I wanted to talk about?" The words sounded far away, as if Alex wasn't actually there in the room. He just nodded in response, his eyes trained on the stapler on the desk in front of him. It was quite nice, actually, the design really tied together-

"Son, your presentation-"

"My presentation was awful, I know. I'm _sorry_." He snapped, trying and failing to keep his tone even. George's face shifted into a glower briefly, before his eyes softened again. How was he so damn empathetic? It made guilt settle in the pit of Hamilton's stomach. Washington wasn't the one he was mad at, anyway.

"That's not the way I'd put it. Has something been bothering you recently? You've seemed distant for a while now. It's... not like you."

"No, sir. Thank you for your concern, but I'm fine," he lied through his teeth. Maybe if he didn't make eye contact, he wouldn't be able to tell how bullshit that statement was.

Instead of giving an answer, Washington was quiet for a few beats. He stood there, watching him carefully, probably hoping that Hamilton would take his words back and tell him what was actually going on. Unfortunately, they both knew he was too stubborn to admit that he was struggling.

After a long pause, he finally spoke. "Alright then. If you're sure." He nodded to the door and turned away, his hands folded behind his back. Alex stood and started toward the exit, making it halfway through turning the handle before his boss spoke again. "But for your sanity and mine, take the rest of the day off."

Hamilton actually started to laugh for a moment, until he realized that George didn't find it amusing.

"Sir, I-"

"I mean it, Alex." He said, his voice measured, but firm. "Please."

He opened his mouth to protest again, but decided better of it. With a resigned grumble of something that sounded like "fine", he made his leave.

 

* * *

 

 

Upon his return to his office to collect his things, Hamilton instantly spotted something sitting conspicuously on the center of his desk. Squinting, he set his bag on the floor and walked over to investigate. As he got closer, it became apparent that it was... a Starbucks cup? Interesting.

He picked it up, turning it over in his hands, and noticed two things: one, it was black coffee, which was what he mostly drank at work, in order to get more caffeine in his system as efficiently as possible. Two, it seemed to have writing scrawled on it in cursive, which was possibly the most pretentious thing he'd ever seen- literally, who writes in cursive casually?

Upon closer inspection, the black pen only displayed one word: "Sorry". No explanation, no punctuation, nothing.

_What the hell?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the story is Finally Picking Up™ !!
> 
> \- - -
> 
> If you liked this, [buy me a coffee?](https://ko-fi.com/B0B3CI77)


End file.
